


Come In and Ruin Me

by onlytheshortones



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Divorce, M/M, Non-Chronological, Post-Season/Series 03, the last five years au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlytheshortones/pseuds/onlytheshortones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard Hendricks. CEO of Pied Piper. Star on the rise.<br/>Jared Dunn. Hopelessly in love. </p>
<p>The wrong people at the wrong time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come In and Ruin Me

**Author's Note:**

> The labor of love that is the Jarrich The Last Five Years AU. Big thanks to rillrill for the inspiration and also the use of her Jared/Giving Tree headcanon. Also to her and GoldStarGrl for like, everything, as usual.
> 
> For those of you unfamiliar with The Last Five Years, it is probably helpful to know that this is the story of Richard and Jared told from both perspectives, except Jared is telling it backwards and Richard is telling it forwards.  
> For 
> 
> For those of you very familiar with The Last Five Years, sorry I followed the structure so so rigidly. 
> 
> Please enjoy and then come talk to me.

I.

So Richard left. Richard packed up all his monitors and his stupid margarita machine and left. The condo feels haunted. He hasn’t shown up to the office in three days. He just left.

He left a note—an eloquent, well-crafted note that Jared reads over and over, trying to hear it in Richard’s voice. But he can’t. It’s not there. If Richard had stood in a room and said goodbye, had looked Jared in the eye and said out loud that he was leaving, it would never have come out like this. It would have been sloppy and inarticulate because Richard can barely speak when he’s angry. He would have stammered and gone in circles and it would have given Jared time to respond, to diffuse, to change this outcome. That’s what they _do._

But not anymore, apparently. Now Richard decides to turn his back on everything they’ve been through, everything they’ve built together. Twenty-five counts come and gone, and Jared has nothing. He’s just going to have to start over. Quit his job, because the other guys won’t stop looking at him like he’s Yoko Ono or something. Divest the pitiful few shares Erlich threw his way after the pivot. Then what?

So he starts over somewhere else in the business development department of some mid-level tech company. Shazam is supposed to be hiring. Does he change his name again? He’s supposed to just move on from the life he always wanted? Work he poured his heart and soul into, a partner he finally felt at home with? A husband—a _family_ that was supposed to last forever?

He gave up so much— _gave_ so much, and all he ever asked for in return was a place. His own little corner. With Richard.

But Richard just grew and grew, and he found new places and new people and attention that didn’t make him want to puke. And it turns out that Jared was just a safety net, and safety nets don’t get a lot of visits from the comfortable.

Jared used to love _The Giving Tree_. He doesn’t remember who gave it to him, but it was _his_ , he knows that for sure. It was one of the few things that came with him every time he moved. He remembers reading it to himself every night, tracing the thin lines of the illustrations with his fingertip.

He tries not to dwell on his childhood, but what’s always stuck with him about that book is that the boy always came back. Even when the tree was just a stump and he was an old tired man, the boy still came back. He took and he took and he took without a word of thanks and he left the tree alone, but in the end, they were _together_.

Jared doesn’t know where he went wrong.

 

* * *

  

II.

Richard is a pleasant sort of buzzed. Almost-buzzed, really. Not quite tipsy. Not drunk enough that the kitchen swims when he walks in. Certainly not drunk enough to quell the sudden feeling of discontent settling into his stomach. Because yes, he’s relieved that Erlich and Bighead bought them out, as opposed to Gavin fucking Belson. Of course he is. But just because the other guys can shrug off the thoughts of new cap tables and name changes and divided responsibilities and just go back to Always Blue like nothing happened doesn’t mean he can. Pied Piper (and yes, it’s still Pied Piper, he’ll go to the mat on that one) is his _baby_. The thought that he could be ousted—again—makes him feel sick.

He presses his hands against the counter and tries to breathe over the sink, water running. He just needs to open his lungs and breathe.

“Richard?”

He looks up. Jared has followed him into the kitchen, stands in the doorway with his feet turned out like he’s not sure if he’s coming or going.

“How are you feeling? Are you nauseous?” he asks, taking a half-step closer to Richard.

Richard takes a deep breath in over the faucet. For some reason, he thinks the cold water running really does make it easier to breathe.

“Nauseated,” he says.

“What?” Jared asks, taking another step towards him.

“It’s nauseated,” he says, looking resolutely down at the running water. “Nauseous actually refers to whatever _inspires_ the feeling of nausea. Most people don’t know that.”

“Okay,” Jared says. Pauses. “Are you feeling nauseated?”

Richard looks up at him now, at his concerned face and aggressively nonthreatening stance, and almost laughs at how simply ridiculous this all is.

“Yeah,” he says shortly. “Yeah, I am.”

“Okay,” Jared says again. “How about we go outside?”

Richard stands for a moment watching the careful way that Jared watches him. He feels a slight release in his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, turning off the faucet. “Sure.”

He lets Jared guide him out to the patio, a soft hand barely touching his back as he settles into a plastic lawn chair by the pool.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Jared asks gently.

Richard looks out over the flat blue water of the pool, barely illuminated by the porch light, and shakes his head.

“I’m sure you’ll get your shares back,” Jared says softly, tentatively, like he’ll stop at Richard’s slightest signal. Richard stays still.

“None of us would be here without you, Richard,” Jared says, in a voice so thick with emotion that Richard has to look up to be sure he’s not crying.

He’s not. He’s looking at Richard with a sad half smile on his face, that face that’s so open, so trusting and vulnerable, so…Jared. Jared, who used his own money to pay that click farm and get Richard feeling confident again. Jared, who hasn’t left his side for days. Who voted yes to the sale so Richard wouldn’t have doomed the company alone. Jared. And suddenly, Richard sees it all spread out like a map—Jared making sure he ate when he felt too awful to move. Jared’s face when he said “we have a secret.” Jared’s voice in his head, stopping him from lying at Coleman Blair. Jared never asking for anything in return for all that he does.

And Richard tilts his head and the light catches on the blue of Jared’s eyes, and for a moment, Richard wants to laugh, because Jared is a man who lives in a garage, who makes half what he could be making literally anywhere else he wanted and takes an endless amount of shit from the other guys. And he does it all because he believes in Richard.

But the urge passes quickly, replaced by a kind of heavy feeling in his throat, because in this moment, that really isn’t all that funny. In fact, it’s the furthest thing from funny Richard can think of.

Jared smiles wider under Richard’s gaze. “What is it?” he asks, and Richard doesn’t have a response. At least not a verbal one. What he really wants to do, he realizes, is kiss Jared, but the reality of that is a whole other thing, and not something he can immediately execute, so he just shrugs.

Jared shrugs back and looks out over the pool. Richard watches him. He _could_ just kiss him. Nothing’s stopping him, and there’s a whole new set of butterflies in his stomach that he thinks probably won’t stop flapping around until he does it.

Or he could not. He could just go back inside and sit back down at his monitor and pretend he never had this feeling. They could move on.

But Jared is sitting there, absentmindedly fiddling with the buttons of his shirt and looking pensive, and there’s this rising feeling in Richard’s throat that makes him think he can’t ignore this any longer. And it seems like his body is ready to act _now_ , so maybe the best thing to do is just shut his brain off and go for it.

He’s leaned across the divide between their two seats and he’s reaching for Jared’s hand, and Jared is turning, surprised, and he _can’t_ do this, he cannot just _do_ this.

He freezes, leaning towards Jared with fingers entwined, and he has absolutely no idea how to recover from this.

“Richard?” Jared asks, his voice full of concern.

“I should have—” Richard pulls his hand away, leans back into his seat.

“What?” Jared asks, and there’s this little glimmer in his eyes that Richard thinks could maybe be hope.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurts out. _God._ That was graceless.

But Jared smiles, like, _really_ smiles, his face breaking out into a full grin that lights up his eyes.

“Yes,” he says. “ _Please._ ”

Richard grabs for his hand again, leans across the seats again, and Jared’s free hand comes up to cup his cheek like they’re in a movie (a Julia Roberts movie, maybe) and then they’re kissing and it’s new and it’s incredible, and Richard feels this swooping in his stomach, like something is starting. No, not just something. It’s like everything is starting at once.

 

* * *

 

III.

“Richard,” Jared says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, standing in the doorway of Richard’s home office. “Can we talk?”

Richard sighs and leans back in his chair. “Yeah,” he says. He sounds nervous, Jared thinks. Funny that after everything, Richard can still be nervous.

Jared takes a deep breath in and walks into the office. If it has to happen on Richard’s turf, fine. That’s not important. There’s nowhere to sit in here, except the chair Richard’s in, so Jared leans against the desk. He feels very tall, like some kind of looming giant. He doesn’t want to be here, having this conversation. What he wants is to be in bed with his husband, but that’s not in the cards, so he’s here.

“How was the conference?” Jared asks. An olive branch—start the conversation off right. Maybe it’ll go well.

“Fine,” Richard says. “It was fine.”

Maybe not.

“I missed you,” Jared tries.

Richard shifts in his seat. Says nothing.

“Richard, what’s happening to us?” Jared asks, quietly. He thinks this is his best tack, the best way to engage. At least to start.

“What do you mean?” Richard asks, without making eye contact, feigning disinterest.

Jared feels a flash of something—anger, probably. He takes a deep breath against it. Stay calm. Stay level. Don’t get too emotional.

“I mean you just got home from a week long trip and you barely even said hello to me,” Jared says. “I made dinner.”

“Oh, well, if you made dinner,” Richard says, a bite of sarcasm in his voice. Jared winces.

“Don’t do that,” he says, pushing his voice up a level. “I’m your husband. It’s not wrong for me to want to spend time with you.”

“I’m _busy_ , Jared,” Richard snaps. “I’m the CEO of Pied Piper, okay? I don’t have unlimited time to spend with you.”

“I’m not asking for unlimited time,” Jared says steadily. “But you hardly look at me anymore. I feel like I live alone.”

“Well, I can’t help your feelings,” Richard says.

Jared can’t help it—the flash of anger from before is settling into a dull burn in his stomach. “No,” he concedes. “But you could validate them.”

“I’m not your babysitter, Jared,” Richard says. “Validate yourself, okay? It’s time to grow up.”

Jared recoils. But that’s it.

“I’m trying to talk this through,” he says. “Like adults should do. I don’t think I’m the one who needs to grow up.”

Richard looks up at him, looking surprised for the first time. “What exactly do you want from me, Jared?” he asks, and he sounds so haughty that Jared could scream.

“I want you to _care_ ,” he says, his voice finally wobbling, about to break. “Richard, I want you to care about _us_. You and me. Together. Everything we’ve fought for. Everything we’ve built.”

Richard doesn’t look at him, but he keeps going.

“Pied Piper. Us, Richard. We have something special. We _are_ something special.”

Richard doesn’t say anything. It’s like something’s missing inside him. Jared remembers standing in Erlich’s bathroom while Richard lay lifeless in the bathtub. It feels like that. Only different. Because then Richard thought that _he_ had failed. Then, Richard had lost faith in himself. And then, Richard had been wrong.

But now. Now, Richard is looking at Jared like he failed, let him down somehow. And maybe he did. All he ever did was try, but maybe somehow he got it wrong. Jared doesn’t know how to restore Richard’s faith in _him_. Looking at him now, he’s not sure Richard ever had any. Richard looks up at Jared, and it’s like he’s looking right through him.

“Excuse me,” Jared says, standing upright again and retreating to the bedroom. _Never let your adversary see you cry._

Richard doesn’t come after him.

 

* * *

 

IV.

 “Richard, slow down,” says Dinesh from across the table, over the rapid clicking of Richard’s keyboard.

“Can’t,” Richard says. “Board meeting in two minutes, interview with CodeRag in an hour.”

“You have an interview with CodeRag?” Erlich looks up from his bong. “That _rag_?”

Richard rolls his eyes without looking up from his lines of code. “Good press,” he says.

“Are you sure you’re prepared for that?” Gilfoyle asks flatly.

“Yup,” Richard says, as he finishes tapping out a command. He knows he’s about to hear the whole drill, he’s about to get entirely psyched out. But he doesn’t actually care. It’s funny, he’s been so…well, relaxed isn’t the word for it. He’s just…focused. And he’s centered in some weird way. It’s like he’s…fuck it, he’s _happy_.

“What if—” Gilfoyle starts.

“Board meeting?” Richard cuts him off, standing up and jerking his head towards the kitchen, looking at Erlich. Erlich nods and follows him to the kitchen.

“Where’s Bighead?” Richard asks, pouring himself a glass of water and sitting down at the table.

“I don’t know.” Erlich takes a rip off the bong and coughs. “Where’s Jared?”

“What?” Richard chokes on his water and coughs, harder than Erlich did. “Why would I…what does it…?”

Erlich looks at him expectantly.

“Jared’s not on the board,” Richard says, composing himself. He takes a gulp of his water.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?”

“Why are you asking about Jared?” Another sip of water. Perfectly natural.

“There’s dust in my garage, Richard,” Erlich says. “Almost as if nothing’s living there.”

Richard rolls his eyes. He was counting on Erlich to be oblivious, but forgot about the snooping. Richard doesn’t want the guys to know, not yet. But he can’t stop himself from smiling, smiling a little too wide, he’s sure.

Erlich rolls his eyes. “Richard—” he says, but the kitchen door swings open before he can get it out. Bighead comes in, with his giant Big Gulp and perpetual look of surprise.

“Am I late?” he asks.

“Right on time,” Richard says quickly. It’s a board meeting, after all. Time for business.

Bighead sits. Everyone adjusts, takes a moment to prepare.

“Honestly, everything looks good,” Bighead says. “Downloads and DAUs are both up, we’ve got meetings with Coleman Blair and Branscomb Ventures lined up. Gavin Belson called again—I think he wants to buy us out.”

Bighead drones on, and Richard tries to pay attention, but part of him just can’t. _Honestly, everything looks good_. He’s off. Because everything _does_ look good. He’s CEO of a company that defies all odds, comes back stronger after every hit. The press is starting to get wind of him and his success. He gets to decide the direction of his company again (well, mostly). And…well. A smile creeps back onto his face. There’s dust in Erlich’s garage.

Richard feels dopey, but Jared just has this way about him, this aura of calm and worth that just…envelopes Richard. Jared, with his soft voice and bright smile and surprisingly confident hands, makes Richard feel like he can take on the world. And maybe he can.

“Any other business?” Erlich asks.

Richard snaps to attention. “Yes,” he says. “Yeah, I…have something.”

“Richard, I thought this was clear,” Erlich says. “You’re permitted into board meetings within your capacity as CEO, so you can—”

“So I can have my voice heard, yeah,” Richard recites. “I remember.”

“So,” Erlich says, as though closing the conversation.

“So I’d like to have my voice heard.”

Bighead raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?” he asks hesitantly.

Richard nods. “I would like to petition that I be reinstated as board member,” Richard wipes his sweaty palms on his khakis under the table. Erlich and Bighead make eye contact for a moment that seems to last a lifetime.

“Well, I’m for it,” Bighead says.

Richard looks at Erlich, who rolls his eyes in his most pompous way, then sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “I suppose a third board member wouldn’t hurt. But remember, we can still outvote you.”

“Understood,” Richard says, his stomach leaping.

“Any more business?” Bighead asks again. This time, silence.

“Excellent,” Erlich says. “Congratulations, Richard.” He stands and leads the way back into the living room.

Richard can’t stop smiling again. He checks his watch. He’s got a few minutes left before he has to leave. He could probably finish this last bit of the chat function.

Jared pokes his head in as Richard settles back into his seat.

“Richard?” he asks. Erlich looks up.

“Yeah?” Richard doesn’t quite make eye contact with Jared. He’s bad at keeping secrets.

“You know you’re meeting CJ Cantwell in half an hour, right?”

“Yeah,” Richard says, and he can’t help it. He looks at Jared. _His boyfriend_. “Thanks, Jared.”

The smile is back. Erlich rolls his eyes, but Richard ignores him and puts on his headphones. He’s got work to do.

“Jesus, how many Red Bulls has he _had_?” Dinesh asks, barely intelligible through Richard’s headphones.

Richard smiles again. He hasn’t needed Red Bull for weeks.

 

* * *

 

V.

Jared wakes with a start to an empty bed. He rolls over and checks the clock. It’s 2:47 AM. When he went to bed, Richard was there with him. But his side of the bed is cold. Jared climbs out of bed and pulls on his slippers. He pads out of the bedroom down the hallway to Richard’s office.

Richard is sitting, headphones blasting, at his monitor, coding away, laser-focused as usual.

“Hey,” Jared says. Richard doesn’t hear, so Jared leans back against the door frame and watches him for a moment. He’s going to make himself sick, up at all hours. He works too hard.

Richard has a look of blind determination on his face, and Jared almost smiles instinctively. This is the Richard he fell in love with, after all. The Richard who walked away from ten million dollars, the Richard who didn’t look up from his work when the guys busted down a door at TechCrunch. This is the Richard he fell in love with. He just…might not have really examined that that Richard would be the Richard sitting before him now—missing date nights and meals and previously arranged plans. Jared feels like he’s married to a ghost sometimes. He tries to remind himself that he signed up for this. He did, he really did know who Richard was all along. And he loves him. That’s what makes it so hard.

But he knows what he’s doing. He has a place in the system too—Richard works himself half to death and Jared takes care of him, makes sure he eats and hydrates and sleeps. That’s his role. So here he is.

He steps fully into the room and puts a hand on Richard’s shoulder.

Richard starts and pulls off his headphones. “What?” he asks irritably.

“Richard, I’m sorry to disturb you,” Jared says, feeling oddly formal, like he’s interrupted something intimate, like he’s the unwelcome intruder. “I was just wondering if you were coming back to bed.”

“I’m kinda busy, Jared,” Richard says.

“Okay.” Jared steps back towards the doorway. He hesitates for a moment as Richard moves to put his headphones back on. “It’s just…”

Richard looks at him sharply, and he persists against the urge to shrink back away from the glare.

“You can’t have gotten more than nine hours of sleep in the last two days.”

Richard blinks and turns his eyes back to the screen without saying anything.

“Sweetie, I’m just concerned—”

“Jared, not now, all right?” Richard snaps. “I’ve got a fuckload of work to do and I can’t have you distracting me.”

Jared bites down on his bottom lip. “Richard,” he says. “Could you maybe take a less aggressive tone with me? I’m just trying to—”

“Jared, I’m working.” Richard puts his headphones back on and looks away, and that’s it. That’s the end of the conversation. Because Richard decides it is.

Jared stands there watching his husband work for another moment, trying to swallow back the flood of resentment washing over him. _Deep breaths, Donald_. A ten count inhale, hold five, ten count exhale is twenty-five counts to find the silver lining—it’s always worked before, always masked his negative feelings before. He can push past this. He can reframe. Twenty-five counts.

And final exhale, twenty-five counts later, and Richard is still staring resolvedly at the screen as if Jared isn’t even there, still radiating Do-Not-Touch vibes. Jared is still standing in the doorway limply, biting his lip to keep from opening his mouth.

Those twenty-five counts aren’t for changing the situation. He knows that. But he…hoped. It was foolish, but he hoped that maybe in those twenty-five counts Richard would look at him, would stand up and kiss him and apologize and come back to bed. Richard would reassess. But it was foolish. Twenty-five counts later, and he doesn’t feel much better.

Jared walks back down the hall to the bedroom and climbs back into bed alone. At one point in his life, he didn’t believe in anything. He had given up hoping altogether. He’s starting to wonder if maybe that was better.

 

* * *

 

VI.

It’s Jared’s birthday. And Jared hasn’t mentioned it—never does. It drives Richard insane most of the time—it feels like a test, like his worth as a boyfriend is measured by whether or not he can remember Jared’s birthday without a reminder. But this year, he remembers crystal clear, and he has the perfect gift, so he’s not too bothered today at Jared’s lack of disclosure.

Jared—of course—already has breakfast on the table when Richard wakes up, which is typical, but probably better off for everyone anyway. Richard sits at the kitchen table absentmindedly chewing on pancakes while Jared putters around pouring coffee.

“Happy birthday,” Richard says idly when Jared finally joins him at the table.

Jared flushes—just a little, but he definitely flushes. “Thank you,” he says.

“I have something for you.”

“You do?” He sounds genuinely surprised.

“Yeah, Jared, of course I do.” Richard gets up from the table, leaving his breakfast half-finished in the excitement. “Stay here.”

He fetches his laptop carefully, and sets it down in front of Jared, open.

“What am I looking at?” Jared asks. Richard clicks through, pulls up a stream. “It’s a database,” he says. “I hacked it together last week. It’s all the wildlife livestreams I could find, compressed and made searchable by species.”

Jared’s mouth falls open. “For me?”

Richard laughs a little. “Of course for you,” he says. “Who else would I build a database of wildlife livestreams for?”

Jared’s eyes are misting up, so Richard quickly clicks again. “See, this is a heron’s nest,” he says. “I was gonna try to make it searchable by location too, but—”

“I love it,” Jared says, cutting him off.

Richard blushes.

“Nobody ever built me anything before,” Jared says.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Richard says. He sits back down and takes another bite of his now-soggy pancakes. “You deserve it, you know,” he adds.

Jared doesn’t say anything, but he smiles even wider at the computer screen, so Richard thinks he’s done his job.

 

* * *

 

VII.

The office is quiet. Jared doesn’t usually stay this late, but then again, his business day isn’t usually derailed by Monica Hall.

Not that he’s bitter. He’s fine. He likes Monica. He respects Monica. And he’s happy that they’re doing well, that they’re expanding. But he can’t help but notice that no other department head had to give up half of their responsibilities. He still hasn’t gotten all his shares back. And Monica does things…differently. Not right or wrong, just differently.

But it throws him off—and then today she called a meeting, without so much as letting him know in advance. It’s inconsiderate is all. Jared would never do the same to her. So he’s worked late making up for the time lost, but he’s finally about done, and he’s ready to go home.

He drives home in the quiet—when he and Richard go in together, Richard likes to play music, and Jared doesn’t mind that or anything, but he prefers to decompress in quiet. It’s just discouraging, working like this. But he’s certainly been through worse. Besides, he doesn’t dwell on the workday. He’s almost home, and when he’s home he devotes himself to other things. To Richard, mostly. And for the first time since they moved, Richard has left the office earlier than he has. Jared’s excited for what that means—a whole uninterrupted night just to themselves. Richard’s been so busy lately, they’ve hardly had one of those since their honeymoon.

Jared lets himself into the condo slowly—he’s still resolving himself to forget the workday. The place is unusually quiet when he gets in. Eerie, almost. No sign of dinner being started (not that he expected that, really). No sign of Richard at all.

“Richard?” he calls out to the dark home. No response. He walks down the hall, checking each room in turn. Nothing. So he checks his phone.

_Out for drinks with Erlich, home about 11 maybe_

Oh. Jared feels a measure of disappointment settle into his stomach. Well, it’s not fair to be disappointed, he thinks to himself. They hadn’t made any plans, after all. Jared just thought…well, no use crying over spilled milk.

He makes himself dinner and eats it in front of _Fried Green Tomatoes._ He can’t watch that with Richard anyway—Richard always teases him for crying.

 

* * *

 

VIII.

Richard drives them to Heritage Park. It’s quiet in the car—Jared looks out the window, smiling softly. It’s a nice day out.

Richard lets Jared carry the picnic basket because his hands are sweaty and he doesn’t want to drop whatever nice lunch Jared made. He carries the blanket instead, a red and white checkered thing straight out of a movie. He’s never seen it before, wonders if Jared bought it specially. He doesn’t ask though. He’s having trouble saying any actual words, which is going to be a problem if it keeps up.

They settle in the middle of a field. Jared hands him a bottle of sunblock, and Richard’s heart seems catch in his throat. Jared is so…Jared. Of course he brought sunblock. Why wouldn’t he be looking out for Richard?

“Well, put it on, silly,” Jared says, and Richard realizes he’s just sitting there grinning at Jared like an idiot with the bottle in his hand. He squeezes some out, rubs it onto his face and neck.

“What’d you make?” he asks, lying on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. Jared sits cross-legged and starts unpacking dishes, then Tupperware, reciting elaborate names of food. Richard’s stomach turns at the thought of actually eating. But it all looks great, like Jared took real time to prepare it. So he lets Jared make him a plate, and takes it and picks at it while Jared tells a story about HR training. Prosciutto and melon. Fancy. If he weren’t so nervous he would probably love it.

“You don’t have to eat it, you know,” Jared says.

Richard looks up, surprised. He’s not sure when Jared stopped telling the story.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I just…uh…”

“Are you all right?” Jared asks, suddenly in Concerned Jared Mode, rifling through the picnic basket. “I think I brought a bottle of water, it should be—”

“No,” Richard says. “No, I’m okay, just…stop talking for a second?”

Jared obliges, looks at him with wide eyes and half a smile on his face. Richard’s heart is pounding, but he looks at Jared and waits for it to settle. This is right.

“Things are…” he starts, then breaks off. He did _practice_. But this isn’t as easy as it looks, and he’s only got so much in him.

“Jared,” he says. One word at a time. “Things have been really good lately, right?”

Jared nods. “Growth all around,” he says seriously. “We’re topping the market in—”

“No, I mean,” Richard cuts him off, getting flustered again. “I mean, us. You and me. Things are good.”

“Oh,” Jared says.

 

Jared doesn’t know where Richard is going with this, but there’s a fluttering in his stomach. He nods again. “Yes. Things are good.”

“So…” Richard says. “What if—what if we—” He puts a hand up and closes his eyes. It looks as though he’s going to be sick. Jared hates seeing him this way. Whatever he’s got to say can’t be worth this, can it?”

“Richard,” he says, but Richard shushes him.

“What I’m trying to say,” he says. “Very poorly, is that I love you, Jared.”

Jared’s stomach does that swooping thing, like he’s on a roller coaster. He should be used to that by now, but it’s just so…he’ll never get over it. Besides, Richard doesn’t say it aloud that often. Which is fine. Jared knows anyway. It’s just really nice to hear.

“I love you too,” he says, smile creeping into his voice the way he hates.

“And I…” Richard trails off again. “You just…”

Jared smiles at him, bemused.

“I’m really bad at this,” Richard says. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jared says, reaching for his hands. “What is it?”

Richard takes a deep breath and Jared, without warning or conscious thought, prepares himself for the worst. There’s no reason too, he thinks, but…what could be so hard for Richard to say? He could be sick, he could be leaving for some kind of trip, he could…the thoughts spiral away, but Jared keeps his face blank. He doesn’t want to make Richard more upset.

“Would you want to, maybe, you know…get married?” Richard finally asks.

Jared feels like time has frozen. He wants to laugh, or cry, or…everything at once. He can’t even name all he’s feeling. A choked sound comes out of his mouth.

“Jared, it’s okay,” Richard says, squeezing his hand. “Don’t…come undone again?”

Jared feels fit to burst. “I won’t,” he says, but his voice wobbles. He closes his eyes, focuses on Richard’s hand in his, on the blanket and hard ground beneath him. “Richard, I—” he starts, but his voice is overwhelmed again, and he’s worried he might cry, so he swallows hard, squeezes Richard’s hand again, and looks up at the sky—bright blue with fluffy white clouds. A perfect day. _The_ perfect day.

Richard clears his throat. “So, um…will you? Marry me?”

Jared feels another leap in his stomach. He looks at Richard. “Yes!” he says, and he can’t contain the laugh that comes out with it. He’s so happy. He’s never been this happy. He leans over and kisses Richard, kisses him like his life depends on it, like they’re not in the middle of the park where anyone could see. Richard kisses back, and it’s like he’s desperate for air, but not for air, for Jared. It’s like Richard is as happy in this moment as he is.

_She rescues him right back_. The words drop unbidden into Jared’s head as they break apart, smiling and breathless. And it’s silly, because clearly Jared is the lucky one here. But Richard still can’t stop smiling as he pours the champagne, and that smile makes Jared feel like he’s floating on one of those perfect puffy white clouds.

 

Jared hums to himself as he prepares the basket. He’s not going to lie—he was surprised when Richard first proposed this idea. But pleasantly surprised. It’s just what he needs right now—a day out. And…well, Richard made it sound like something special, so he’s excited. And he might be going a little over the top with the food preparation, but he can’t help himself. He’s really been enjoying cooking lately. It’s soothing. He never thought he’d be one for preparing antipasti and cucumber salad, but it became clear after a week of living together that one of them was going to have to learn to prepare a real meal. He doesn’t mind. It’s nice to have a natural, solid way to take care of Richard. It’s nice to have Richard to take care of.

He packs without thinking too hard—prosciutto and melon, a baguette, salad. Champagne. Cheese. The song playing in his head is soft and warm. It’s a lovely day for a picnic.

 

* * *

 

IX.

_It’s good to be on top_. The thought hits Richard out of nowhere—he’s at a party, their party, one million downloads party, and he’s surrounded by friends and admirers, and he doesn’t feel the slightest bit nauseous and it hits him. It’s good to be on top. It’s not like his problems have disappeared—he’s still the CEO of a successful tech company and that carries a lot of stress, but now when people hound him for answers, he almost always _has_ them and that’s…nice. Work feels better than it ever has, really. Which is nice, he thinks, because being a newlywed isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Well, that’s not fair. It’s amazing, of course it’s amazing, Jared is amazing. And so full of love. It’s just…different. Richard didn’t think it would be that different, not from living together or being engaged. But it is—he can’t really explain how, it just is. It’s like everything he says or does is suddenly heavier, like now that they’re married, every moment is about their _life_ together. It’s a lot of responsibility, and he doesn’t always know how to handle it.

But whatever. It’s fine. They’re here, at this party (Jared is—somewhere, right?) and it’s excellent. Everyone want to talk to Richard— _everyone_. Even, like, women. Which is pretty unusual for events like these, so yeah, it’s good to be on top. Not that he like, cares that women are talking to him. It’s just nice to be a big deal is all. Dinesh is clearly enjoying it too—it’s not like he’s doing anything wrong.

A waiter passes with a tray of jello shots.

“Hey,” Richard says, loud and a little bit slurred, but not much. “Where’s Jared? Where’s my husband?”

“I saw him over by the wall,” Gilfoyle says. “Real life of the party.”

Richard sighs, disentangles himself from the cluster of people surrounding him, and goes off looking.

“Hey, Richard?”

He’s halfway across the room when he’s accosted by some guy—mid-twenties, black-framed glasses. “I used to work for Endframe,” he says.

Richard raises his eyebrows. “And?” he asks coolly.

“I just wanted to say, congrats on the pivot—you guys really made us look like idiots.”

Richard chuckles a little. “Well, that was the goal,” he says. To his ears it comes out as awkward as ever, but the guy laughs.

“I’m Lucas, by the way,” he says, sticking out his hand to shake and biting his lower lip. _Oh._

Richard sticks out his left hand—yeah, Lucas had given his right, but they can laugh about the awkward handshake mix-up _after_ he sees his wedding ring.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, once they’ve done the whole dance and finally shaken hands. “I should—”

“Richard!”

This time it’s Erlich calling him, and with one last scan around the room (no sign of Jared—which is strange. He’s pretty easy to spot), he follows the voice. After all, it’s his night. He has to go where he’s needed. Or wanted. He pulls out his phone as he walks.

_Hey, don’t know where you are but they have jello shots!!! Thought you’d want to know, love you_

 

Richard has a cheeto in his hair. Jared’s walking through the living room when he sees it, on his way to the kitchen to make dinner. But he stops for a moment—pauses by the window and watches Richard work, bathed in the warm orange light of the setting sun and the blue glow from his screen.

He doesn’t look up from his place on the couch, clearly doesn’t hear Jared’s approach for the Bose headphones blasting something loud and electronic that Jared can hear from ten feet away—he’s going to destroy his eardrums, Jared’s told him a million times. But he never seems to care. Jared’s still getting used to this new rhythm. Living together—seeing Richard in his natural habitat. He needs a lot of alone time. Jared’s become convinced in the last few weeks that a nuclear missile could hit the house and Richard wouldn’t look up from his code. It’s the passion that Jared fell for in the first place—Richard is a creator. And Jared does love to watch him work, eyes crossing slightly, fingers flying across the keys, brow furrowed and lips pursed like he’s about to chastise you for disappointing him.

And a cheeto in his hair. Jared smiles at it as he continues into the kitchen.

When he sets Richard’s dinner down on the coffee table an hour later, he takes a moment to look over his shoulder to see the work in action—lines of code appearing as if from magic. Jared could probably understand what he was doing if he would just slow down, but Richard doesn’t slow down. So Jared just smiles and brushes the cheeto out of Richard’s hair, bending down to kiss the spot where it rested. Richard grabs his hand for just a moment, squeezes, smiles.

Jared eats his own dinner at the kitchen table then goes back to the bedroom to read. Maybe Richard will join him later—maybe he’ll code all night. He’s learning there’s not a lot of predicting what a day with Richard Hendricks will be. So today Jared makes sure he gets a balanced dinner and takes a cheeto out of his hair. And then there’s tomorrow.  

 

* * *

 

X.

Jared’s only got three boxes of things. He looks at his meager stack next to the full truckload of Richard’s belongings, resting in the foyer of their new condo, and sighs. It’s so annoyingly symbolic, reminding him that he doesn’t bring nearly as much to this relationship as Richard does.

He shakes his head once, quickly, like it’s an Etch-a-Sketch and the bad thoughts will disappear. Neither of them have enough to fill the condo anyway. Their new furniture arrives later. Jared helped with that. Well, Jared ran that—if Richard had final say, they’d have a futon couch and a TV balanced on milk crates. College chic, easy. And Jared wouldn’t mind, really, not in theory, but he’s just so excited for a _home_. Sappy as it is, he just can’t wait to build this home together, to create the space that he and Richard will live in together for the rest of their lives. Well, he hopes the rest of their lives.

So, he dragged Richard through the winding maze of an Ikea and selected a light-grained bedroom set and a warmly faded red couch and some beautiful blue flatware. Richard’s posters will hang in their bedroom. Jared bought some art. All the pieces of a life.

So they’ll unpack their stuff and they’ll order Thai Food and they’ll go to sleep. And when they wake up, they’ll start all over. Together.

“Jared, did you see my video games come in?” Richard asks, poking his head in through the front door.

“Uh…” Jared examines a couple boxes, reading the sloppily written labels. “Yeah, they’re right here.”

“Good,” says Richard. “Hey…”

He’s inside now, he’s grabbed Jared’s hand and tugged. Jared spins around and finds himself looking down at Richard, who is suddenly up on his tiptoes to kiss him.

“Welcome home,” Richard says.

Jared is going to like living together.

 

* * *

 

XI.

There’s a party. A pretty big one too—Erlich has outdone himself yet again. Under any other circumstance Richard would say it’s too many parties, really, but they’ve hit a million daily active users and Erlich wants to take every opportunity to throw it back in Raviga’s face, in Hooli’s face, in…well, it’s Erlich, he doesn’t really seem to mind whose face he’s throwing it in as long as he can do it while wearing a lei and yelling profanity into a microphone for everyone to hear.

Besides, Richard didn’t exactly have much say in the matter—Erlich and Bighead can still outvote him and Bighead will take any excuse for a chocolate fountain, so there’s another party, and Richard doesn’t really mind too much, because for once they’re actually doing _well_ and he’s on top of the goddamn world, so he’s pleased to just drink piña coladas and fight with Dinesh over who _really_ invented the new and improved Pied Piper and have Jared half-carry him home after with an indulgent smile on his face. They’ve made it big. They’ve made it big and he gets to celebrate with his friends and with the man he loves and with an adoring public that used to laugh at him, so really what can go wrong?

He’s in their bedroom getting dressed in the stupid white linen suit that is as summery as he plans to get (why Erlich insists on another island theme is anyone’s guess) when Jared decides to burst his bubble. Richard can tell as soon as Jared enters the room that something’s about to go wrong, the way he steps gingerly like he doesn’t know if he belongs there or not—it’s how he used to walk in the incubator. Richard’s been seeing it more and more lately, even here in their condo. Even in the office. Everywhere. He braces himself, because if Jared is stepping so tentatively, there’s got to be a landmine somewhere.

“Richard,” he starts, and it’s that tone, that _please don’t hurt me_ tone that Richard can’t stand. He knows he shouldn’t react so strongly to that tone, knows Jared has a history of good reasons to fall into it. But he can’t help it. He hates it.

Jared takes a deep breath and continues. “I was thinking I might stay home tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Richard shifts his weight from one foot to the other and bites the inside of his cheek.

“Wh—” he starts, but the sound dies when he meets Jared’s wide blue eyes. He tries again. “Why would you stay home?” he asks Jared’s left shoulder.

“Well,” Jared says, and it sounds to Richard’s practiced ear like he’s choosing his words very carefully. “I think it’s mostly a party for…coders?” he half-asks, like he knows how ridiculous and thin an excuse it is.

“It’s a party for me,” Richard says, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Jared steps over to him, nudges his hands away and replaces them with his own, methodically buttons the shirt from bottom to top. His hands linger straightening Richard’s collar and forcing Richard to look up at him.

“Would you mind terribly?” Jared asks, puppy-dog eyes and sad smile.

“It’s not that I’d _mind_ , Jared, it’s just that I’d like to know why!” Richard shrugs out from under Jared’s hands. “I mean, this is a pretty fucking big night for me, and I’d kind of counted on having your support there!”

He’s pacing now, he knows it, sees Jared’s eyes following him from bed to dresser and back like he’s watching Wimbledon.

“Richard, you don’t need my support,” Jared says in a voice that’s somehow both very small and very full of heavy implications. Resentment. Bitterness. The works. “We’re not in a Raviga bathroom anymore. You do just fine on your own.”

Richard swallows hard and sits down on the bed. They’re _not_ in a Raviga bathroom anymore. So much has changed since then. He feels it and he feels Jared feeling it, and he can’t stop the reality that they’re feeling two different things. He doesn’t know what to do with it. There’s no easy fix.

“Well, I still thought you were gonna come,” he says, rubbing his forehead absently. This argument is cyclical, he knows he shouldn’t even bother engaging—Jared will win anyway, Jared always wins, always pulls out his _everything I do I do for you_ face at just the time Richard really needs something, and then what’s he supposed to do?

There’s a silence, and Richard pulls on his shoes so he doesn’t have to look at Jared. He can feel him, still standing at the foot of the bed, looking like someone just shot his favorite bird clean out of the sky (a red-winged blackbird, by the way. Richard listens). He gets up and crosses to the closet for his jacket.

“I don’t feel like you want me there,” Jared finally says.

Richard almost laughs, he really does. Wouldn’t it just be easier if that were true? But it’s not, so he whirls around, jacket in hand, finally turning to look meet Jared’s eyes.

“Well, Jared, if I didn’t want you there then I wouldn’t be standing here asking you to come, would I?” he snaps. He’s so tired of this careful avoidant almost-fighting, of having to explain that all he means is what he says, that he’s not trying to trick Jared with every word.

“Well, you _haven’t_ asked me to come,” Jared says in a calm, measured voice. As if he’s explaining something to a child. “Are you asking me?”

Richard stands for a second, just looking at him. Because there it is. It’s expert. All he has to do is ask and he _knows_ Jared will go. But if he asks, he’s the biggest asshole in the world, isn’t he? And Jared wins either way, just like always. But not this time. _Not_ this time.

Richard looks up at Jared, up at those _just ask—I dare you_ eyes and decides, once and for all, not to give in. He sets his jaw and walks out without saying a word, straight through the condo and out the door. They have two cars. Jared can make his own decision this time. Richard’s not playing anymore.

 

* * *

 

XII.

Richard won’t sit still. Jared watches him out of the corner of his eye, spares a glance every once in a while when the road ahead is clear.

“Why so fidgety?” he asks, after a few minutes. It’s just…there’s not a lot of space in the compact, but Richard is small so it’s not _that_ cramped. And he usually only gets carsick when he tries to read or code or something. Now he’s just sitting there, nothing special. But he can’t seem to just sit still.

“What?” Richard asks, like Jared has just snapped him out of something. “Oh…nothing.”

Jared raises his eyebrows at the road.

“I don’t know,” Richard says, defensively. “Just a long drive, I guess.”

“Do you want to stop?” Jared asks. “We’ve got a little time.”

He spares another look at Richard. He doesn’t really look sick. Maybe tired. Well, they _do_ have time to stop. Maybe he needs something to eat.

“It’s okay,” Richard says. “I don’t want to make you late.”

“We’re on course to arrive early,” Jared says, looking down at the GPS to confirm. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel rushed.”

Richard tugs at his collar. “Really, Jared, I’m fine.”

Jared smiles. “All right.”

They sit in silence for a moment. Jared doesn’t mind quiet, usually enjoys these comfortable silences, but Richard’s nervous energy is filling the car. Jared doesn’t push it—doesn’t like to push it. Richard doesn’t always want to share.

Sometimes Jared feels like Richard is his own kind of code, that it would take Jared hours upon hours of studying just to decipher a piece of him. But Richard doesn’t like to be examined. The best Jared can do is wait; hope Richard will give something away on his own. Jared wasn’t built to crack middle-out, but he likes to think he can keep up with the bits and pieces he’s given. He has an excellent memory.

“Are you nervous?” Richard suddenly asks, in a kind of a forced tone that indicates to Jared that he’s not going to give anything away today.

So he turns to the question. Which is, if he’s being honest, kind of a silly one.

“What do I have to be nervous about?” he asks.

Richard shifts in his seat. Again. “You haven’t seen any of them since college, right?”

“I used to have tea with Adele every so often,” Jared says. “But yes, it’s been several years.”

“And you’re not nervous at all?” Richard sounds disbelieving.

“I don’t understand,” Jared says, gently. “Nervous about what, exactly? I’m excited to see everyone again.”

“But you’ve all changed,” Richard says.

“Oh.” Jared is beginning to understand, he thinks. “Of course.”

He pauses for a moment, thinking how best to explain.

“I guess I hadn’t really thought about that,” he says. It’s not entirely true, but it’s true enough for the moment. “But I think my friends will be pleased to see me happy.”

Richard makes a little noise in the back of his throat; a sort of tacit agreement mixed with something else Jared can’t quite put his finger on.

Jared takes a moment, weighs the options before he speaks again. _Might as well_ , he thinks.

“They never really have before,” he says. He doesn’t mean to…well, he says it matter-of-factly. Because it is just a matter of fact. But there is a reason he jumped on board so quickly when the idea of a Joyce Carol Notes reunion was first tossed out on Facebook a few months ago. He wants to be seen this way. Now. For the first time, really. With his wonderful job and comfortable life and. Richard. He wants his old friends to meet Richard. It feels symbolic—the old and the new, past and present. Past and _future_. It’s the best he can do without a family to which he can bring Richard home.

“So their approval is pretty important, huh?” Richard asks, in that strangled voice he uses when he’s trying to disguise the truth as a joke.

“Don’t be silly,” Jared says immediately. “They’ll love you.”

Richard makes a choked sort of noise that could be a laugh or could be something else.

“They’ll love you,” Jared repeats. “They will because I do.”

He turns his head a little. Richard is still, for once.

It’s not the first time he’s said it—he’s whispered it plenty when Richard was half-asleep, said it in the early morning or while Richard was kissing down his neck. But here, now, it’s the first time he’s said it in daylight to an expectant rather than occupied silence.

Richard swallows, once.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I…love you too.”

Jared catches his eye again, trying to mute his grin. Richard smiles too—hesitantly. They share a moment, smiling at each other, and it feels like it could go on and on. But Jared has to look back at the road, and Richard fidgets in his seat again, and it’s back to what it was.

The freeway stretches out in front of them in one long ribbon, and Jared watches carefully as cars pass him, speed up, slow down, as the sky gets closer and closer then disappears behind the car. Richard loves him. _Richard loves him!_ The road to Lake Tahoe continues to fly by, and Richard loves him. Has probably loved him before this moment. It’s funny, Jared thinks, how he can feel so elated at something that fundamentally changes nothing. But here he is, grinning like an idiot. Richard Hendricks loves him.

“You know,” Richard says. “I don’t think I’ve ever even heard you sing.”

Jared tries again to smother his grin, meets Richard’s eyes for just a moment. “I usually just need a reason,” he says.

Reed warblers spend all winter long practicing their love songs so they’re ready come summer. If Jared had known this kind of season was coming, he’d have been rehearsing for years.

 

* * *

                                                                                                       

XIII.

Richard can’t fall asleep after.

Well, of course he fucking can’t, he has enough trouble sleeping when he hasn’t done the worst thing he could possibly do. But he’s been lying there for about an hour now, staring up at the ceiling, and all he feels is total numbness.

Every time he thinks it’s about to sink in—when the soft breathing next to him stutters or changes rhythm or the hotel air conditioner turns on again—it’s like his brain launches into overdrive instead. He knows he should be feeling guilty, but instead he’s got short bursts of his speech coming at him in waves. From multiple potential speeches, actually. He still can’t decide if he wants to tell the full story of middle-out—Monica’s words were “don’t you fucking dare,” if he’s remembering correctly. Erlich blew smoke in his face and said something cryptic about being a man. Jared told him that the personal stories are what make Ted talks so compelling. Richard’s not totally sure that Erlich’s capacity for handjobs is the kind of compelling Jared was talking about.

Jared. _Jared_. He repeats the name to himself. What did he _do?_ He still hasn’t processed, still _can’t_ process. He turns his head, looks at the man sleeping next to him. Can barely remember his name. It’s _deplorable_ , he thinks. He knows. But it doesn’t feel real. He could be totally fine, wake up tomorrow and give his talk and go home like nothing’s changed. He _could_. If he could just fucking fall asleep.

It’s the hotel. It’s got to be the hotel—he can’t sleep in unfamiliar places, never has been able to. He needs home sounds, home feelings. The ceiling fan, steadier than the dull off-and-on roar of the hotel radiator unit. The flannel sheets, softer than the scratchy hotel blanket against his skin. Jared’s breathing, erratic as it is. Even the soft German whispers, he’s gotten used to.

And now all he’s got is the blank white stucco of the ceiling, and the glow of the clock reminding him that he has to wake up and get out of bed in three hours. And that’s what does it—the thought of tomorrow, and suddenly it hits him. The nerves start going in his stomach, his heart starts racing. And all he wants, more than anything else in the world, is to roll over, press his face to Jared’s doofy giraffe neck, and inhale.

But he can’t. Right now he’s sharing a bed with a man who isn’t his husband, and it’s finally setting in, and his stomach jerks, and he can’t get up fast enough, is racing his stomach to the bathroom, barely makes it over the toilet before he’s vomiting. Jesus fucking Christ. Richard cheated. Richard cheated on Jared—the perfect fucking partner and yet here he is, a cheater, sprawled on the floor of a hotel bathroom puking his guts out.

What kills him is that part of him always knew they would end up this way. Maybe not the whole sleeping-with-a-stranger-at-a-Ted-conference part, but the part where Jared’s asleep in their bed, in their house, loving him blindly while he fucks everything up alone, miles away. He was always going to disappoint Jared Dunn.

Fucking Jared. This is all his fault. He asked too much. No, not asked. He never asked. He just _expected_. Expected more than Richard could give. _God._

Another wave of nausea hits and he doubles back over the toilet. There’s a knock on the door.

“Hey, are you okay?”

_No._

“Yeah, fine,” Richard calls out to the unfamiliar voice. “Just food poisoning, I think. I’ve got it. You can take off.”

There’s a kind of tentative shuffling sound. “You sure?”

_For the love of God, yes._

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he chokes out, before he heaves again. Jesus Christ. What has he fucking done.

 

* * *

 

XIV.

Jared wakes up cold. Well, not _cold_ per se, not uncomfortable. In fact, it’s perfectly temperate, which is probably what wakes him in the first place. It’s very hot in the garage—even with Anton’s cooling system. Not that he’s complaining—he certainly doesn’t mind staying in the garage for a little while. It’s just nice to wake up once and not be too warm.

Richard stirs against him, and Jared can’t help but smile. That’s nice too. Waking up with Richard, that is.

Richard sleeps recklessly. He tosses and turns and kicks, and he looks stressed even now. Jared reaches out and smoothes his hair down. Richard opens one eye and Jared draws his hand back.

“Good morning,” he says, cringing internally at the way his smile seems to ooze out into his voice.

Richard doesn’t seem to notice. He just makes a half-muffled grumbling noise of some sort and closes his eyes again. Jared watches as he resolutely tries to fall back asleep, squeezing his eyelids shut against the light flooding in through the window—something else Jared could get used to. Not that he should go assuming he’ll have that opportunity. In fact, he has no idea what to expect. Richard did this; Richard kissed him by the pool. This is uncharted for him—should he be getting up now and getting dressed? Sneaking out of the room like nothing happened? Probably. This can’t have been a good idea.

Richard groans and rolls over onto his back so he’s looking up at Jared.

“Hi,” he says, sounding nervous.

Jared smiles. “Hi.”

That was…” Richard trails off.

“Unexpected?” Jared fills in, to keep Richard from saying something harsher.

“Sure,” Richard says. “I was gonna say—well…it just…”

And that’s it. Jared looks down at his hands and takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to say anything, Richard,” he says quietly.

“But…” Richard looks up at him. “I _want_ to.”

Jared’s stomach drops like he’s on a roller coaster. “What?” he asks.

“Jared, last night was great,” Richard says, propping himself up on an elbow. “Right?”

“Yes!” Jared says, maybe too quickly. “Yes, absolutely!”

Richard leans in and kisses him, long and languid. Jared feels like he’s going to melt right off the bed, like he’s going to fall into a puddle on the floor. Yes. _Yes_. This is happening. Now. To him. To them.

Richard pulls back, smiles a little, kind of a sideways smile, nervous. “This guy fucks, right?” he jokes, follows it up with his own weak half-chuckle. Jared smiles, turns so he’s on his side, and just lies there, looking at Richard, taking it all in.

 

It was never going to work. Richard sees that now, should have seen it always. He’s algorithms, binaries. Yes/No. On/Off. And Jared…Jared is SWOT boards. Multiple outcomes. Too many variables. It’s like cloud architecture—somewhere in there, something went wrong and Richard can’t fix it, can’t trace it back to find the mistake. It’s just…broken. Beyond repair this time.

It took him about an hour to write the letter. He’s not sure how it reads—there’s no good way to say it, not to Jared. Jared, whose faith in Richard has never wavered once, not through a lawsuit, an ousting, a failed platform. Not through a marriage. He can’t say it to Jared’s face, can’t stay. The argument would never end. If he has to break Jared’s heart, better to do it this way, so Jared can’t fight him.

Erlich has some extra room—shut down the hostel for good once Pied Piper started doing well. And well…Richard has to go somewhere. Might as well go home. There was a time when he existed—when Pied Piper existed—before Jared Dunn. Before everything changed. Once upon a time, Richard was just a guy with an algorithm.

That’s all he ever has been, really. He tried the partner thing, the husband thing. He did nothing but try. But in the end, he’s just a guy with an algorithm. Jared will see that too, someday.

Richard doesn’t cry. He feels sick to his stomach as he locks the door behind him for the last time, just takes a moment to lean back against the front windows and gather himself. And then he leaves.

And he’s alone.

 

“We should probably get up,” Richard says. Jared nods, but doesn’t move. He just wants this moment to last forever, wants to freeze it and take up permanent residence—here, now, with warm sunlight shining in on him and Richard, tangled together in the sheets on Richard’s lofted bed. It’s like a dream, like a perfect crystallized dream.

“Jared?” Richard nudges him.

“Shh.” Jared pulls Richard down for a soft kiss, stops his attempts to get up. “Just another few seconds.”

He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths. In, out, in. He is completely and utterly content.

Richard wriggles against him. “Jared, it’s late,” he says.

Jared opens his eyes again, lets go of Richard. After all, he doesn’t _need_ to freeze this moment. The next one is going to be better. It all starts now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr @bobbibernstein and always seeking validation


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